Deceptions
by Dunedain789 Walker in the Rain
Summary: You can only hide the truth for so long before it tears you apart and you have to face it. Whether you're ready to or not. It is the story of the early life of Gary 'Roach' Sanderson. This is prior to the fan fiction story 'Loose Ends' and MW2 story line.
1. Swirly

**This story is a joint effort of Walker in the Rain and Dunedain789. It's based prior to the story Loose Ends and the MW2 storyline. It's basically about the early life of Sgt. Gary 'Roach' Sanderson and how he came to join the Task Force 141. This is the first time we've ever done a joint story so please bear with us! Enjoy and please leave a review on how we did!

* * *

**

Chapter 1: Bullies

"Sanderson! Wake up!"

I bolted upright in my uncomfortable wooden chair, staring right into the face of Miss Bayfield, my math teacher. She scowled at me her face flushing slightly with anger. I quickly brushed a few strands of brown hair away from my face; drool made it stick together in knotted mats.

"Well since you seem to know everything there is to know about math then you can tell me what nine time six is," she snapped, glaring down at me.

It wasn't my fault. Not really. The classroom's beige walls were bathed in the afternoon glow of bright yellow sunlight. Hot stuffy air and the regular ticking of the wall clock made it impossible to stay awake. I watched the woman with wide innocent eyes. I hadn't meant to fall asleep. I thought about the question. Six times… wait… what was the question again? Maybe I should just say 12?

I glanced hopefully at Nelson, a chubby boy sitting next to me. Instead of finding an answer however, I got a prime seat to watching him dig around in his left nostril with his little finger. I suppressed a shudder and looked away, careful to keep my distance from the disgusting sight. Nelson had ended up sitting beside me after his usual seat had been 'stolen'. His usual seat now housed an English kid by the name of Tristan, who was busy plastering an oblivious blonde girl with purple sticky notes.

"Gary what is the answer?" asked the teacher again, snatching my attention back from my classmates.

I sighed and hung my head shamefully and muttered, "I don't know ma'am. I'm sorry."

If she had asked before I had fallen asleep then maybe I could have answered her. But right now, tiredness and the unbelievable warmth of the classroom clouded my brain making every thought incoherent. I had worked on my times tables all night with Brandon. It was almost funny. I had lost sleep to work on my math with Brandon but now I was going to fail math cause I hadn't had enough sleep last night. Ah the irony.

A whiny groan to my left caught my attention. Elizabeth, a know-it-all red head, had her arm stretched high above her head, in eager anticipation to answer the question.

"Elizabeth?" asked Miss Bayfield, still eying me with a disapproving glare.

"Fifty-four miss," piped up Elizabeth immediately, giving me a smug look. I responded by rolling my eyes. Insufferable know-it-all. I flinched at what I had just thought. Brandon would skin me alive if I was rude to a girl.

Brandon was my 17-year-old brother. He had practically raised me since mum and dad were too busy at work. I didn't blame them for it. They had to make a living for us somehow… right? Brandon was going to pick me up after school and I couldn't wait. He may have been a slightly annoying older brother but he was cool. He could drive and everything!

The school bell shrieked down the corridor signaling that class was now over. I quickly began packing up my books and cameo styled pencil case.

High heels clipped across the stone floor towards me and I instinctively shrunk away from the noise. Everyone knew, when you hear he clip clop of high heels, you were in trouble. I looked up into the face of Miss Bayfield my heart hammering against my ribcage.

"Gary have you been doing math homework?" she asked quietly, her voice gentle, tipped with disappointment.

I felt tears burn behind my eyelids and promptly looked down at my school bag, fiddling with the metal zip tab in an attempt to hide my face from her. I tried really hard at math. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never get the hang of it. The routine was always the same. Every night I would work on math with Brandon; get excited that I had finally understood it; come into school the next day and find out that I couldn't do the problems anymore.

"Yes ma'am," I whisper, frustration coloring my voice "I work on it every night with Brandon."

Miss Bayfield studied me carefully and said, "Gary, I'm going to have to talk to your parents. You're falling behind. Your grades in every other subject are incredible. But you may need to take a special math course. Just to help you along."

I nodded, refusing to take my eyes off my school bag and left. Fantastic, I thought bitterly, now mum and dad were going to know I was a failure. Brandon wasn't going to be here for a while so I had some time to kill. I quickly wiped my eyes on the back of my grey blazer sleeve, and sat down on a wooden bench, pulling out my homework.

* * *

Half an hour later I stood up, joints cracking as I stretched. I sighed in content and slung my bag over my shoulder, making a beeline to the front door of the school. The afternoon sun filtered though the glass windows and doors casting the entire school in a suffocating warmth. Outside however, was a different story. I pushed open the front door of the school, frigid winter air washing over my face and down my neck. The grass under a row of small trees was still frozen from the morning frost. I shivered slightly and slumped down on the concrete stairs outside the door, to wait for Brandon.

Apart from a group of four boys were playing a game of cards a few meters away the entire area was now deserted. I watched them with interest. They were older than me by about 5 years. The biggest of the lot was a rat-faced kid with black oily hair and freckles. Little grey eyes surveyed the cards in front of him in concentration. His red school tie was loose and his shirt hung out over his pants.

His friends were relatively similar. Each was roughly the size of a bulldozer, and had giant hammy fists. One had brown hair while the other two had blonde scruffy hair.

The group turned and looked at me and I promptly lowered my gaze flushing slightly with embarrassment.

"Oi," said one of the boys gruffly. I glanced up only to come face with the rat faced kid. He grinned stupidly at me and said, "No little kids are allowed over here," motioning for me to go over to the tree with the frozen grass underneath it.

"Since when was that a rule?" I asked in a calm voice, raising an eyebrow at him.

The boy frowned at me and crossed his arms over his barrel chest. He nodded to the brown haired boy on his right and said, "Looks like the wee bastard needs a lesson in respecting superiors."

The boys circled around me like vultures each wearing an evil smile. One grabbed me by the scruff of my uniform, yanked me to my feet and slung me over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. Another ripped my school bag off my shoulder and threw it to the ground causing the bag to burst open and spill its contents over the concrete.

I beat my fists into his shoulder, kicked my legs and yelled at them to let me go.. However the boy carrying me kept hold of me and carried me in a weird procession, following the black haired boy and the other two cronies.

* * *

He kicked the small stall door, smashing it open with a bang. They had taken me into the boys toilets. The smell of urine and deodorant permeated the air making my eyes water.

"Teach him a lesson," he cackled in maniac delight watching me with amusement.

I felt the brown haired boy let me go instantly causing me to drop to the ground, with an audible crack as my cheek made contact with the cold stone floor. I whimpered in pain and fright and begun crawling towards the bathroom door, only to have my ankle seized. I was dragged backwards, my hands scrabbling on the floor as I tried desperately to escape.

One grabbed me by my uniform and dragged me over to the toilet, lifting the seat. I glanced at my reflection in the water briefly, before strong hands forcefully shoved my head into the toilet, under the icy cold water.

I choked on it, tasting it in my mouth. My stomach convulsed in reaction. My hands fumbled on the side of the toilet as I tried to fight against them. Black spots filled my vision, panic rising up in my chest.

They suddenly pulled on the neck of my uniform, lifting my head out from the water. The black haired boy was kneeling next to me, grinning.

"How do you feel?" he asked, in mock concern. His voice was underlined by the shaking excitement of a psychopath.

I spat a mouthful of toilet water in his face in response. He scowled at me, grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled, ripping a yell from my throat that echoed around the concrete room. The group howled with laughter as they plunged my head back into the water causing me to choke on lungfuls of toilet water.

* * *

They left me alone in the stall, coughing and gasping for air. I was trembling with fright and from the cold water that trickled down my neck from my sodden hair.

When I finally caught my breath I stood up with as much dignity as I could muster and marched out of the toilets, heading back outside. Brandon would be here soon and he was not going to find out what had happened.

The group of boys was nowhere to be found, so I quickly collected up the spilled contents of my bag.

The hum of an approaching engine announced the arrival of Brandon. I leapt down the stairs to look down the road. A red pick up truck rounded the corner down the street, pulling up next to me seconds later.

I jumped eagerly into the warm cabin; the smell of dry mud and petrol permeated from the seats. I tucked my broken bag under my feet and turned to face my big brother. His hair was shaggy brown with natural blonde highlights, which reached down to his collar; a small layer of fuzz decorated his chin giving him a mature appearance. His face was cracked into a warm grin, his mud-colored eyes twinkling in delight.

"How you doing Gaz?" he asked chucking the car into gear with a grinding crunch.

"Good, good," I answered quietly. He didn't need to know what had happened.

"Sorry I'm late," he continued, pulling away from the curb, "traffic was an absolute mission." He glanced at me through the corner of his eye and frowned.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked, taking note of my soaping hair and uniform.

"Uhhhh. Water fountain broke," I answered quickly, refusing to look him in the eye. I hated lying to Brandon.

I don't think he bought it, but he didn't push the issue. Instead he rabbitted on about a 'mint as' jump he had landed in motocross practice today. He had been doing motocross for a long time. He had won a placing in the national's motocross tournament in New Zealand last year. Every Wednesday morning, he'd head out with Nick Dire, Patrick Aubrey and Angus Webster to beat the hell out of his Honda motorbike on the clay motocross track. I was happy for the subject change. I listened eagerly to his recount of his day at the dirt track.

The trip home wasn't particularly long. But the loud boisterous singing of Brandon to the song 'Sugar Sugar' had me cringing in my seat.

"Can you leave the singing to people who get paid for it," I muttered under my breath, silently praying to god that the song would stop soon.

Brandon gave me an exaggerated look of hurt before laughing. We rolled into the driveway of our house, the engine cutting off with a final shudder.

"Go have a shower squirt, you really stink," announced Brandon, opening his door with a bang. I grinned at him and cracked open my door. I was going to have the longest shower ever!


	2. Demons

Moonlight streamed through the frost encrusted windows, casting my bedroom into an eerie glow. All the colours seemed to seep out of the world at night in a wash of shadow and light.

I rubbed my eyes furiously with the back of my hand. I couldn't remember what had woken me, my brain still hazy with drowsiness.

My polished mahogany dresser and bed frame glinted red gold, tiny scratches etched into their smooth surface by years of use.

I shivered under heavy covers, the cold air brushing past my shoulders and down my neck. Winter always put a stress on our heating system, the ancient machine giving a low whine as it threatened to give out.

Thud

That was it! The sound that woke me! I strained my ears, the sound of muffled voices echoing through the house. A heavy resonating voice rumbled down the hallway. Dad?

Why was he here? He never came unless he was on holiday…

I threw off the toasty covers, eager to see him, a smile on my face. I struggled into a pair of sweat pants that lay crumpled on the ground and moved towards the door.

Crash!

I froze, my hand on the door handle, as I heard my mum yelp with pain, followed by a stream of curse words. I cracked open the oak door of my bedroom, shuffling out without a noise.

The hallway floor was covered with warm, squishy grey carpet. The cream colored walls were adorned by glossy photos reflecting the dim light which shone through the kitchen door at the end of the corridor.

The heavy thumping of running feet caught my attention as I whirled round just in time to avoid being trampled by Brandon. His face was paper white with worry but it held a determined angry look.

"Go back to bed Squirt," he mumbled hurriedly, as he brushed past me, running towards the kitchen. A door closed, dimming the light in the corridor to a barely notable glow.

Voices grew clearer as I followed Brandon, stopping dead in the kitchen doorway. The plastered walls were eggshell-white. Heavy silver knives that hung over the sparkling black marble bench, shone in the dim light that trickled under the heavy lounge doors to the right. My heart was pounding. Something was terribly wrong.

"Bitch… get…room…now…or else" snarled a man's voice. It sounded like dad. I shook my head not believing. It couldn't be dad. It just couldn't be.

A cry of pain echoed from the lounge to my right. My blood froze. Mum?

"Fuck off Lance!" snapped Brandon, his voice seething with anger.

I wanted to step into the living room to find out what was happening. Dad wouldn't hurt us! I wouldn't believe. I couldn't believe. But doubt and fear kept me rooted to the spot. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to see.

A murmur of a comforting voice bubbled out from under the lounge door. Dad's voice interrupted, so hot with anger it could scald. Against my better judgment I opened the lounge door.

I stood, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the bright light, surveying the confusing scene. Mum lay huddled, blank eyed next to a toppled chair. Her dark brown hair fell lifelessly around her pale face. A stream of crimson blood ran down her check. A symphony of emotions played in her eyes, waves of ice-cold fear dancing in her blue irises. Brandon stood protectively over her, arms outstretched, dressed only in a pair of black faded sweat pants. His muscles were tense, ready to fight.

Dad looked predatory, his upper lip, beaded was sweat, was drawn back in a snarl to reveal stained yellow teeth. His hazel eyes were glazed over and full of rage as he stalked in front of Brandon, his eyes fixed on my older brother. A fringe of greasy raven colored hair hung limply on his forehead threatening to block his vision. His breathing was ragged and heavy like he'd been running. The clothes he wore were haggard, his pants dirty and torn and his brown leather jacket, which I recognized as a Christmas present from mum, was now faded. The smell of stale cigarettes clung to him underlined by the rich sharp smell of alcohol.

"Get out of it Lance!" ordered Brandon, his voice steady. If he was scared, he didn't show it

"This is my house you little bastard!" yelled dad, hitting Brandon in the face closed fisted. Brandon backed up, dazed, but continued to shield mum from dad growing fury.

He screamed in rage and punched Brandon in the gut, causing my older brother to abruptly fall to his knees.

He grabbed a handful of Brandon's long hair and pulled his head back, yanking his neck at a painful angle.

My eyes stung with tears as I stayed motionless, shock and fear causing me to shiver uncontrollably.

Brandon didn't cry out. He just glared into dad's eyes. I think this must have disappointed dad as he quickly threw Brandon's head forward, slamming him into the grey carpet. Satisfied he stood tall over Brandon and mum, his eyes alight with triumph.

"You're not even worth the dirt on my shoes," sneered dad. "Don't you ever forget who runs this house!"

Brandon glanced at me. I was frozen to the spot with fear, eyes wide as I stared at my father. Father. A word used out of respect… out of love…

Dad must have realized Brandon's attention had flickered. He spun around to face me, a sick grin twisting on his cracked lips. I felt the blood drain from my face and my breath hitch.

"Hey little guy," said dad. His voice could almost be called comforting, loving. I just stared at him in horror, an icy pool of terror growing in my stomach. "You don't look so good, go back to bed 'kay?"

He walked up to me, rubbing a hand through my already tousled hair. He smirked back at Brandon, who was still on the floor, shock on his bruised face.

Dad chuckled low and I flinched. What shrieked in my mind was like the drum roll of a slogan rather than a thought: He hit mum and Brandon. He hit mum and Brandon

Mum hadn't even looked up. She remained slumped next the chair. Her eyes looked as empty as a doll's.

"Night buddy," murmured dad.

I felt sick, waves of nausea rolling through my body, panic rising in my chest. This was just a bad dream and I'd wake up and it would be gone. An incoherent nightmare. I had to believe it. I needed to believe it.

He walked out of the room, tall and proud, calling for our mum. She stood slowly and followed, walking from the room with hypnotic grace. Like nothing had happened,

My vision blurred, warm salty tears trickling down my face. Something wet and cold touched my cheek causing me to cringe. Brandon sat on his heels in front of me, a cold flannel in his hands, his eyes filled with a heartbreaking sadness.

"Gary, it's ok, it's over."

I shook my head, tears falling thickly onto the ground like little pearls. I bit my lip and cried out. I wanted to scream. To run far away and never look back.

"Gary, look at me," ordered Brandon, his voice commanding. He held onto my shoulders firmly, supporting me. I stared into his eyes, hazel meeting muddy green. "It's over," repeated Brandon softly, gazing intently into my eyes as if trying to convey something important.

I slumped forward into his arms, hugging him tightly as I cried. I felt him gently pick me up and carry me down the corridor to my bedroom.

He flicked the light switch on and sat me on my bed, gently dabbing my face with the cold cloth. I felt calmer now. The cold cloth was working.

Plastic glow-in-the-dark stars were stuck to the roof with blu-tac, each giving off a faint greenish glow, even in the light that now filled the bedroom. My duvet cover was a deep blue, with little red and yellow rockets lining the top and bottom of the cloth.

Brandon watched me intently. "Did he hurt you?" His voice was hoarse with concern.

"No," I mumbled quietly, my eyes drooping shut. I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore, the late hour and emotional distress had drained me.

Brandon smiled kindly and started tucking me into the bed. "Okay Gaz, go to sleep now okay kiddo?" he whispered.

"Don't leave Brandon… please," I managed to mumble as Brandon pulled the cold sheets over me. I started shivering again and I snuggled closer to him.

He laughed quietly and lay down next to me, flinging an arm around me in comfort, pulling me closer.

"I'll never leave you Gary. I promise."

So there you have it! Reviews would be BEYOND WONDERFUL!

Walker: please review… you know you want to read more * wink wink*


End file.
